from time to time as
they occurred to her.

"Cousin Ruth is staying here, Uncle Charles."

"Indeed," said Charles, absently.

His eyes had wandered to Evelyn taking Ralph his cup of tea, and giving
him a look with it which he returned--the quiet, grave look of mutual
confidence which sometimes passes between married people, and which for
the moment makes the single state seem very single indeed.

Molly saw that he had not heard, and that she must try some more
exciting topic in order to rivet his attention.

"There was a mouse at prayers yesterday, Uncle Charles."

"There _wasn't_?"

Uncle Charles was attending again now.

Molly gave an exact account of the great event, and of how "Nanny" had
gathered her skirts round her, and how James had laughed, only father
did not see him, and how--There was a great deal more, and the story
ended tragically for the mouse, whose final demise under a shovel, when
prayers were over, Molly described in graphic detail.

"And how are the guinea-pigs?" asked Charles, putting down his cup.

"Come and see them," whispered Molly, insinuating her small hand
delightedly into his big one; and they went off together, each happy in
the society of the other. Charles was introduced to the guinea-pigs,
which had multiplied exceedingly since he had presented them, the one
named after him being even then engaged in rearing a large family.

Then, after Molly had copiously watered her garden, and Charles's
unsuspecting boots at the same time, objects of interest still remained
to be seen and admired; confidences had to be exchanged; inner pockets
in Charles's waistcoat to be explored; and it was not till the
dressing-bell and the shrill voice of "Nanny" from an upper window
recalled them, that the friends returned towards the house.

As they turned to go in-doors Charles saw a tall white figure skimming
across the stretches of low sunshine and long shadow in the field beyond
the garden, and making swiftly for the garden gate.

"Oh, Molly! Molly!" he said, in a tone of sudden consternation,
squeezing the little brown hand in his. "_Who_ is that?"

Molly looked at him astonished. A moment ago Uncle Charles had been
talking merrily, and now he looked quite sad.

"It's only Ruth," she said, reassuringly.

"Who is Ruth?"

"Cousin Ruth," replied Molly. "I told you she was here."

"She's not _staying_ here?"

"Yes, she is. She is rather nice, only she says the guinea-pigs smell
nasty,